


Don't call me

by one_more_knight



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bondage and Discipline, Community: kinkme_merlin, Ephebophilia, M/M, POV First Person, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-10
Updated: 2009-10-10
Packaged: 2018-07-10 20:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7005736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_more_knight/pseuds/one_more_knight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Merlin/Mordred, spanking, with Merlin doing the spanking. Interpret as you wish, but please no sexual touching between an adult and a child. That said, kinky anon would give her first born for anyone willing to push the envelope a little. (Note: Ephebophilia is more than welcome, and exactly what I had in mind. )</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't call me

“Emrys!” Mordred says, choking midway through the name. The name that isn’t mine. I slap his arse again, harder, once, twice, quickly, then pause so he can gulp in air, and so I can choose where I want to hit next.  
“Em—“ he starts, and I bring down my hand on the slight downward curve of his buttocks, making the rest of the name catch and mangle in his throat with a moan that takes as long to fade as the red imprint of my strike. Just to be sure, I hit the exact same spot, but more gently. He only moans this time. Ah, finally. 

He is such a beautiful youth, perhaps sixteen now, hard to tell when he reaches almost to Merlin’s chin and can (has) rise a rain storm in the middle of a forest. His limbs are long and pale, unblemished, overprotected by heavy capes and thinly masked fear (he knows about it anyway). Even his gaze has changed, narrowing from a pin-pricked emptiness to a challenging stare to everything and everyone that encounters his path. He orders nature to abide him, will needle anyone until he gets exactly what he thinks he needs. Even after Morgana took him in in Camelot, even though magic was now allowed (but not yet commonly accepted, that may never really be), he constantly dared them all to surprise him. He dared me to satisfy him, and I surprised him by doing exactly that, and now intend to needle him into craving it.

I spank him again, and again, set up a rhythm. My hand is tingling and his arse is burning up but I do not know whether they are so from the hits, the magic or the anticipation. Rapidly, Mordred is straining against the bonds fastening his hands to the bedpost. He isn’t asking to be released, though, is instead panting wetly into the pillow. His hips jut high in the air, his balls and part of his cock visible between his thighs. They tremble slightly at each hit and I loose my concentration for a few slaps watching them. Wanting to see more, I stop to put a hand on his lower back and press lightly, a simple, rehearsed direction. He obliges by curving his spine a little more. It makes his unlaced night shift ride up, showing more skin, up to where it sticks with sweat right between his shoulders. I idly draw a few druid symbols with my nails on the skin there, just to stall things, to make him feel how real this is, then lick, kiss and bite them deeper. This too, he already wants but now needs to need. 

He really is quite lucky that I’ve been taught in this before, or I wouldn’t know what to do and how to ask for it, to recognize what he will ask for before he does. But no, Morgana taught me well, and Arthur always was patient. I shift closer to his side; kiss the corner of his jaw.

“Spread your knees”, I say to the skin there, then retreat a little so I can stare into his face turned my way. His brows are down, but his mouth is slack and his eyes aren’t defiant anymore, they are heavy-lidded… and expectant. Tss. Spoiled. I wait a little too long, just enough to make it sink in that I do not have to do anything else, that just as he chooses the crime, I choose the punishment. It is extremely pleasing to see his eyes widen a little in realisation, perhaps even fear that this would really stop here, and if he and I had been a few years younger, I would have smiled and mussed his hair. But we aren’t, which is the only reason why he is so tied in my bed, why his dick and is arse are both flushed and burning, why his back and thighs are slick with sweat, his toes and nails digging into my sheets. “Spread your knees,” I repeat, and this time he does immediately.

Half a quarter candlestick more of spanking and caressing is all it takes for him to come all over my bedding, while he still otherwise untouched. I watch his back curve outwards as he rides his orgasm, watch how he raises to his elbows for it, how his head drops between them and how he pants and gulps. We are far from done here, and he knows it, just as he knows he’ll come again tonight, but the first is always strongest for him, like the closing of a masquerade, just before everyone removes their mask. He is astonishingly beautiful then, handsome even nowadays, and I palm my cock through my trousers to command it some patience. Soon enough, it’ll be thrusting between those creamy thighs, sweat and other fluids caught on the pale fine hair there, delighting in their cushioned grasp, in the way it’ll brush against Mordred’s balls, the way it’ll make his keen and moan and twist, yearning for release through more bonds, for bruises through kisses. 

I myself yearn for the time that we will both be strong enough that I can take him, enough to thrust into each another in turns just as we can thrust shallowly between ourselves now, spit and sweat-slick, heaving and pushing into the touch. Maybe next night, if he is good, I can tell him how to use his fingers in me, to stretch me slowly, deliciously slowly, using more fingers than are necessary just to feel the burn of it, and then tell him how he can take that knowledge and use it for himself. He loves that, and I probably will, too. He will be formidable soon, and perhaps so with me, but not yet. I still have a lot to teach him, and he has a lot to show me. 

I watch as Mordred calms from his first orgasm of the night, and smile to myself before bringing my hand down again on his arse. He still has to properly call me name, and he knows it.


End file.
